


Disposable

by crazyjane



Series: SpookyVIXX October 2020 [2]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Hook-Up, M/M, Not Beta Read, SpookyVIXX October, Vampires, fear kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26786386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyjane/pseuds/crazyjane
Summary: He knows what he’s doing is stupidly risky, that his career could be the least of what he loses, that every time he walks into one of those underground clubs he might end up weighted down in the Han River. He knows he should stop. He can’t. He’s addicted to it, and it’s not even about the bite or the sex anymore. It’s the adrenaline, that delicious, dangerous moment when terror and arousal crash together in him in a storm that pulls him so high he can’t think anymore. When they kiss him with his blood on their mouth, when they take him apart and leave him slumped against the wall, half-dead but feeling more alive than he ever has.Most of all, it’s the game.
Series: SpookyVIXX October 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955065
Comments: 13
Kudos: 9





	Disposable

They’ve given him so many names.

Fangtease.

Blood doll.

Whore. 

Sometimes muttered behind his back, sometimes growled right in his face when they’re pinning him against a wall, tearing at his clothes, sinking sharp fangs into his throat. They say it in tones of admiration and of disgust, in voices made desperate with hunger or slurred with blood-drunk satisfaction. In the beginning, the names hurt him, twisted him into a mess of shame and excitement that made him avoid his own eyes in the mirror when he was cleaning up afterwards even as he was already thinking about the next time. Now, he’s so used to it that there’s hardly a twinge anymore. And it doesn’t matter, anyway. Hongbin knows who he is, _what_ he is, and he tells himself he’s made his peace with that.

He’s the disposable boy.

His friends don’t know. They think he goes out to dance, maybe hook up, and they don’t question if he’s tired and quiet in the mornings. He gets vaguely disapproving looks from Taekwoon, bafflement from Wonshik and Jaehwan, faint envy from Sanghyuk. That’s easy to ignore. What’s harder are the long, considering looks from Hakyeon, as though he knows what Hongbin does when he goes out and is trying to decide whether to say something. Of course he doesn’t know, he can’t, but it still puts Hongbin on edge and makes him take even more elaborate measures to deceive them all.

He knows what he’s doing is stupidly risky, that his career could be the least of what he loses, that every time he walks into one of those underground clubs he could end the night sucked dry and weighted down in the Han River. He knows he should stop. He can’t. He’s addicted to it, and it’s not even about the bite or the sex anymore. It’s the adrenaline, that delicious, dangerous moment when terror and arousal crash together in him in a storm that pulls him so high he can’t think anymore. When they kiss him with his blood on their mouth, when they take him apart and leave him slumped against the wall, half-dead but feeling more alive than he ever has.

Most of all, it’s the game. 

It starts before he even leaves the dorm. Hongbin dresses carefully, all in white to draw the eye, to tempt them to take him and stain him red. Leather jeans, boots, a tight, low-cut top that exposes the prominent veins in his arms. Wristbands and a choker, designed to hide the parts of him that are most sought after. Finally, a mask that’s little more than a strip of fabric over his mouth and nose, more like a gag. Then it’s a matter of listening until there’s no one awake, padding down the hallway and slipping out, hailing a taxi and letting it take him into the heart of a world most people think doesn’t even exist.

The door bitch at the club he’s chosen tonight is used to seeing him by now, but, as always, her eyes are drawn to the collar. She doesn’t ask if he knows what he’s doing and he knows she doesn’t care. He tilts his head slightly, not enough to be blatant about it, and smiles behind the mask when he sees her gaze sharpen, knowing she won’t touch him, knowing how much she wants to. He hands her his jacket and steps through the door into smoky, coloured half-light.

Inside, it’s nearly full already; people scattered around the edges of the room drinking and talking, bodies in the shadows pressed together, a few dancing to generic music with the bass turned up so high it drowns out the higher notes. Near the bar, humans cluster with drinks held tight in sweaty hands, nervous and excited, waiting to be cut out of the herd. Most of them wear what Hongbin’s come to think of as ‘the uniform’, all black, plunging necklines, too much eyeliner and lips that already look like they’re coated in blood. Interchangeable. Boring. Hongbin smiles again, this one tinged with contempt. Some of them will get lucky tonight, if the vampires are hungry enough not to be picky. None of them will be memorable, and there will be at least one or two who never make it home, because there’s nothing special about them, nothing to make them worth keeping around. He looks over at the others watching from the shadows and thinks, _I’ll give you something different_.

Hongbin walks onto the dance floor like he owns it, like he belongs there, and starts to dance. He dances slower than the beat, all the years of training giving him the confidence to simply let himself go. In the gloom he glows like a beacon, moves as though under the touch of a lover, arousal already simmering in him, building. There’s a space clearing around him, but he acts like he’s lost in the music. As he dances, he unfastens first one cuff, then the other, slipping them into his jeans pockets, and tugs at the collar as though it’s constricting him. Two of them draw nearer, but, still they just watch. All part of the game. The tease. Waiting to see who’ll crack first. It’s always them. Always.

He starts to touch himself as he dances, just stroking along the skin of his neck above the collar, sliding his hand down his body, trying to make every part of him scream _take me_. Slow body roll, fist clenched in his own hair, turning, displaying himself. The air shifts, and changes, and the weight of their gazes falls on him, _I’ve got them_. And then there are strong hands on his waist, gripping tightly, warm breath on his neck making him shiver. He arches backwards against a hard body for a moment before slipping out of the vampire’s grasp, stepping away only to turn back and pull down the mask to give the vampire a slow, hungry smile.

They don’t make it outside. Hongbin’s breath is knocked out of him as the vampire slams him against the corridor wall. Sudden spike of terror, every time, that freezing moment of _have I gone too far_ , and like every other time, that thought just makes him want this even more. The vampire has two fingers hooked under his collar, tugging. Somewhere Hongbin finds the breath to say, _here let me_. He unbuckles the collar and the vampire falls on him, no lead-up, just the punch of fangs into his veins, _hurts, hurts, get away._ Even now, he instinctively tries to flee, but the vampire lifts his head and growls into Hongbin’s face, grabs his wrists and holds them against the wall. Mouth on his throat, and he can feel the pull, _he’s doing it, he’s drinking me_. It’s incredible, it’s awful and so, so _good_. He twists in the vampire’s hold, moaning, rock-hard and straining to push himself against the man’s body, craving friction, something, anything. The vampire lifts his head, snarls, _mine_ , and bites again, harder. The first wound is still open; Hongbin can feel his blood sliding down his chest, soaking into his top, _should make him heal that_ , but there’s the pull again, deeper this time, _he’s taking too much_. The vampire drinks, and drinks, and every swallow just winds Hongbin tighter. _Is this it, is this the night where I die_ , but then the vampire grinds his hips against him and Hongbin comes in his pants with a strangled scream and there’s no thought anymore, no vision, no breath, completely swamped by sensation.

He doesn’t feel the vampire’s tongue dragging across the wounds, doesn’t feel his skin crawling as it knits together. When the vampire lets him go, he slides down the wall and sprawls, half-sitting, half-drained. All he knows is that his entire body is a shaking mess of pain and the lingering after-effects of adrenaline, that he’s filthy and helpless and he’s been thrown away again.

Disposable.

And _alive_.

And that he can’t wait to do it again.


End file.
